Bobo Fiendish sits in front of the TV with a sinister smile on his face. He looks to the calender, and the folks at home see that the date of the PPV is circled in red.

Hello, my intended...

Well, as even  OUR fanbase can clearly see, I'm looking forward to the Pan-Galactic Championship Match which - unless I get hit by a bus or kidnapped by the Visitors - will end with me being crowned the Pan-Galactic Champion... This pleases me.

Now, you might be saying, 'But Bobo, Justin Voss is a tough competitor... Justin Voss is the Swiss Army Champ - after beating Viet Kong, who beat HIM for it before.' And I'll have to reply, 'SO?' Justin Voss couldn't fight his way out of BED - as anyone can clearly see. He's just a strand of wheat before the COMBINE HARVESTER that is... The ANGEL of DEATH Most... EXALTED.

Voss, you couldn't take a SHIRT to the cleaners... In fact, the only people you DO take to the cleaners are your two dozen fans and assorted family members that you get to squander their SSI checks on tickets so they can cheer for you. Now you're calling yourself the 'Federation'? It is to laugh. Guess that means you watch 'Star Trek' or something... Lemme guess, 'No one conquers the Federation' or somesuch, right? Bah. You watch too much television... I mean, really, 'A Real American Hero'? Well... Knowing is half the battle... Heh.

Let's be realistic... YOU are a pop-tart. Square. Sweet. And full of jelly. Whereas I am the Angel of Death MOST EXALTED. When such as you DARES step into the ring against such as I... Well, you big foo-foo, I hope you're not too attached to your KIDNEYS. When you get closed into that cage with ME... NO ESCAPE... and I lay these big hands on your scrawny little Swiss Army chest to see whether I can pry the Can-Opener attachment out of your RIBCAGE, I figure that you'll take a personal moment to ask yourself two very important questions... To wit:

"I thought I could WIN? Was I DRUNK?'

You think you can shout down from on high that you deign to accept a hardcore match? "If you want hardcore, you GOT hardcore," you say? Must... Not... Laugh... You FOOL. Hardcore doesn't BEGIN to describe the man, the myth, the monster that is Bobo Fiendish. I guess it's standard for a dink like you to pretend to agree to match stipulations you BLUNDERED into. Remember? But to just out and out LIE that I'd have No Chance in Hell (and where have we heard THAT before? Hmmm) to stomp your yellow guts out and take MY Pan-Galactic Championship? SPARE ME your wild fantasy. The only place you could POSSIBLY win is the Neighborhood of Make-Believe, and even there it's posted 20 to 1 against...

Now, I see that you've got your midget back. This pleases me. This means, naturally, that you'll have to lower the handles on your WHEELCHAIR so he can push you around. Of course, you'll have to play navigator on the Federation Shuttle with your one good eye, but that's to be expected... Sadly, he'll have to drop his book in the Lollipop Guild to join Helper Monkey Local E-E, but I digress...

Voss, the second thing that should be going through your mind - right behind my FIST - is whether you have your affairs in order. For example, on the off chance I leave any of them undamaged, you should sign an organ donor card... Maybe shave the dwarf and pass him off as your son so he can get some of that SSI bonanza? Maybe get that WILL written... You know how those trailer-trash relatives of yours are after a funeral/flea market, so you better divvy up your property now... Just don't let Andy stand on the lawn too long, or they'll snatch him when they get your flamingo. Heh.

The fans are going to see something they've never seen before in BOB... A wrestling match. Sure, it'd be better if it was between two WRESTLERS, but you'll have to settle for the Stereo-Typical Face. BRIEFLY. So fans, take some advice from you're buddy Bobo... Buy all the cheesy Voss-Man merchandise you can... They're  about to become COLLECTOR'S ITEMS. Think of the resell on some of the bones I DON'T crush. Gotta catch a rib...

You're welcome... See you SOON.